


The Room

by yourestuckinmyhead



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourestuckinmyhead/pseuds/yourestuckinmyhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tate and Violet are trapped in their old room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Violet had never wanted any of this.

 

For Tate, this was all he had ever dreamed of.

 

They appeared to be, for the time being, stuck in their old bedroom. Tate's old bedroom. Violet's.

 

Banging on the door, the walls, breaking the windows. Nothing Violet did would work. Tate just sat there, staring at her. "Help me." She pleaded to him.

 

"If thats what you want." 

 

He stood up and screamed and broke and cried with her.

* * *

 

She didn't know how long they had been in there. It had probably been years, days, centuries. Maybe.

 

Her parents had forgotten about her a while ago.

 

They had a newborn baby to take care of after all. Every other week they had a newborn baby and  _oh isn't it a miracle._ They didn't even notice they were living on the same loop. Nothing seemed to knock them out of it. Knock them out of their joy, _"a new baby"_ her mother would say. Carry him around the house like a prodigal child. The ghosts of the house had long ago lost interest in the scratched record that was her mother. Her father didn't even notice the baby was the same. He would come out and hold it and mumble coos at it. Nothing else mattered to them.

 

They were fixated.

 

Even if any of the other dead residents of Murder House could hear Tate and Violet. None of them would care.

 

Maybe Moira would care.  _Maybe._

 

Certainly not enough to come and break them out-break _Violet_ out.

 

So, after a few years of consideration. Violet sat back down on the floor, pulled out a cigarette, and waited some more.

* * *

Tate wasn't sure about how he felt. Being back in this room.

 

He was not  _upset._ No, not in those words exactly.  _Relieved?_ No. Yes. Kind of.

 

He just felt like, like- _Violet._

 

 _She_ was back and so close he could smell her and all Tate had to do was reach out and-

 

"Help me."

 

Tate hadn't realized that there was anything she needed helping with. Where were they again?

 

 _They._ He liked that they were a  _they_ again.

 

"If thats what you want." Tate didn't want to leave. He flashed a small smile at Violet. 

 

She doesn't notice. Violet is to busy running around the room trying to get out. Out of her room. His room.  _Their_ _room._

 

He stares at her, and starts trying to help her run away from him.

* * *

Neither of them are sure about how long its been since they've seen each other.

 

Well, Tate's sure. He stays away from her, of course. Thats what she wants, but he remembers the last time he saw her. That one good Christmas the Harmons had together before things went to shit.

 

It had been almost 9 years.

 

Violet didn't remember. Not that she could remember much. She could if she wanted to, but she didn't. She didn't not remember in that stuck-out-of-time way most of the ghost in murder house couldn't remember. Violet just didn't care.

 

She didn't want to live-be dead?- with the memories anymore. So she let them drift off. Away. Out of her head and into the fucking universe for all she cared. _Let someone else deal with this bullshit._

 

She remembered Tate though. And all the horrible shit he pulled. The multitude of reasons she shouldn't be here with him. Now. In their- _her room._ Why was she here at all? Why was he?

* * *

Tate had just been sitting on her bed. Thinking. He only got to be in their room when she wasn't there, after all, so Tate tried to make the most of it. 

 

Sometimes he would just go in there to be close to all the moments that resided there. Tate wanted to breathe them all in. Make them real again. Even the ones that hurt.

 

_"I said go away Tate."_

 

Tate breathed. In and out. The pain of this room was far outweighed by the joy that he had experienced here. This room. Their room. Where he fell in love with the morbid girl from a fucked up family who just  _got_ him. And he got her. They were so perfect together. 

 

He can still remember what her skin felt like. Under his fingertips, his mouth-everywhere. She was everywhere when he was in here. Tate never wanted to be anywhere else. Sometimes he would look at the door. Begging for her to walk in, spread out her arms, welcome him home.

 

And then, one day, she did. Not exactly, but close enough. Maybe.

 

He had just been getting ready to leave, soaking up the last of her to tide him over until the next time, when the door knob turned. Tate froze. Violet walked in. 

 

Time stopped working.

 

Violet started screaming. Tate tried, and failed, to not smile back at her.

* * *

Violet didn't care that Tate liked to sit in her room sometimes. Why should she? Its not like he was ever there when she got back from where ever she had been, so why would it matter? So when she had walked in on him, that day, Violet....panicked. A bit.

 

Meaning she screamed and tried to run away. The door wouldn't open.

 

She told him to go away. His smile disappeared. Nothing else happened.

 

Violet sank to the floor. Tears running down her cheeks.

 

"Violet-please. Don't cry! I'll just leave okay? I didn't mean too-" Tate scrambles towards her-the door. 

 

"GO AWAY!" Again, nothing.

 

"It's okay Violet. Im just going to sit down. Over here. It's fine. Everything is fine." This is the happiest Tate has been in a while. If only Violet would stop being so sad. That would be better.

 

"I,I need to get out of here."

 

Violet tries to bring the house down.

* * *

Tate walks over to her spot on the floor, pulls out a lighter.

 

It's comfortable. The infinite amount of seconds they have spent in each other's company since being trapped in the room has trained them-Violet-to be okay around each other. At least to the point she stopped screaming when he got too close.

 

"Violet." She nods back to him. Stares at the door some more.

 

"I just wanted to say, Violet, that maybe-maybe this is our chance?" She tenses, "To make things better between us? You know, how things used to be? Before...before everything." Tate knows that he's clutching at straws here. That he should leave well enough alone. But here she is. And she can't leave. 

 

This might be his only chance to try. Just try.

 

"Just go away, Tate." It hurt to say. Especially after what she was just tempted with. But no, Violet couldn't just  _forget_ him. Tate just wouldn't slip away like everything else in her head. He mattered.

 

Tate felt a tear roll down his face, "I couldn't. Even if you wanted me too." 

 

and so they sat. and waited some more.

* * *

In this old creaky house, this murder filled house, Moira was scheming. Not the manipulative, adulterous planning that she was known for,  _oh no_ , this was much better.

 

She and this Murder House had come to, an  _understanding._ At least thats what she liked to call it.

 

Moira had long ago stopped trying to get out, she was here forever. She accepted that. But just because this was her eternity didn't mean she was going to sit around and do nothing-no. She was better than that. So, she climbed down into the basement. And asked.

 

"Now, House. I here to ask a favor."

 

The House listened greedily.

* * *

"Why do you think we're stuck here?"

 

Tate hadn't expected a response. Violet hadn't said anything in a month. Since he bothered counting the days away.

 

"I think the universe has decided it needed to fuck with me some more." From her position on the floor, sprawled out, hair arced in a halo around her head, Tate thought she looked like an angel.

 

"Im not upset that your here. That we're here. Together. I think its good, Violet." Tate sits perched on the bed, legs crossed indian style, eyes wide. Violet thinks he looks like the devil dressed as a child.

 

"Of course not, Tate. Im not the one who killed 18 people and raped my mother. There's no reason for you to be upset." Violet takes a cold hard drag of her cigarette. Puff out smoke signals.  _Help. S.O.S._ _  
_

"I said I was sorry. I mean it."

 

Violet rolls over to face him, leans up on her elbows. "You're only sorry Tate, because I won't forgive you. None of those people you hurt matter to you, and thats why you being here isn't okay." She lays back on the floor. Closes her eyes. Wishes things could be different.

 

"Im sorry that hurt _you_. Thats not something I ever wanted to do, Violet, I love you. And you should never hurt someone you love." Tate is finding it very hard to sit still. To not move over to where Violet is, and simply be there with her. Have his head on her chest as she breathes in and out unnecessary oxygen. After all these years Tate has been living on borrowed air with out her. He wants to inhale for the first time in two decades.

 

"Nothing you haven't said before, Tate."

 

"I know. I just want you to know I mean it."

* * *

 

It was a cold night. Freezing actually. Tate had given Violet the bed. Watched her crawl under the covers from the desk chair he now sat it. He ached to follow her under. Memories of Violet and skin and heat and  _god_ it had been so long since he had been warm.

 

It had been fourteen years in this room. They haven't spoken in three. He hasn't touched her for twenty three. 

 

How desperate he was for things to be different. Violet started shivering.

 

He rushed over to the bed. "You okay? Violet??" She thrashed about. Not shivering. A nightmare?

 

Tate reached out, hovered inches above her shoulder. She woke up. Sprung away from him.

 

His fingers curled back into his palm. "Sorry." He walked back over to his chair.

 

"Wait." Violets voice was shaky. Unsure. Tate turned his head towards her, eyes hopeful.

 

"Yeah?" She nodded.

 

Slowly, he shuffled back to the bed, crawled in gently.  _Don't make me go back. Please, Violet._

 

She laid down, relaxed. His arm wound its way around her waist. 

 

They both slept.

* * *

 

The morning came quietly. The sun creeped up the bed, softly. The breeze outside visible, gentle to the leaves and the blades of grass that swayed gracefully as it blew past.

 

Tate was awake. Violet was not.

 

He was transfixed with the way she felt in his hands, against his chest. Warm. Breathing sleepily. Deep, peaceful breathes. Tate didn't want to waste the precious time he had left. He smelled the point where he neck met her shoulder, drew his fingers up and down her arms, carefully pulled her closer to him. In order to not to wake her and have this all slip away, as quickly as it came.

 

The sun and reached the top of the bed before, once, twice, three times Violets eyes blinked open. She snuggled in closer to Tate's chest. He couldn't inhale. Couldn't move. Waiting for this reprieve from the horrible loneliness to be over. She tensed. He exhaled.  _Gone._

 

"Let go of me, Tate." One by one his fingers pealed off her skin. The brilliant heat leaving them as soon as they hit the open air. Violet sat up.

 

"Violet? Can we please not go back to the way it was before? Please? Lets just stay right here? Please." Eyes wide, Tate tried to bring her back to him. She looked at him. Leaned a bit closer.

 

"Im sorry Tate." His head sunk. Hope fled from his eyes. "But hey, hey Tate?"

 

Tate raised his eyes to hers.

 

"Thanks."

 

"One thing, Violet. Before we go back." She nodded to him.

 

Mouth open, eyes half shut. Slowly. Like the sun, he approached her. Fingers spread softly on her cheeks. Forehead against forehead. Their noses brushed. "Just once. Please." 

 

Violet breathed in and out. Half a nod.

 

Tate kissed her gently. Lips barely brushing. He breathed her in. Out. Let her go.

 

and the door creaked open.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The Sort of End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Door had opened up.
> 
> And the breeze that came with it blew out the dust,
> 
> blew out Violet.
> 
> Tate was too heavy to be taken with it.

It has been a year.

 

Nothing has changed. Specifically Nothing in terms of Violet and Tate's _relationship._

 

Tate wanted thing to change. The current predicament involved no kissing or touching or sex or Violet.

 

If anything, that Door opening had really put a damper on his afterlife. (death? Semi-living reality?)

 

The only good news that came from the Door being open was that Tate got the Room. Violet had surrendered it completely. Said it freaked her out. 

 

_It freaks me out._

 

She had been eyeing Tate when she said that.

 

(Tate tried to ignore that bit.)

 

Another downside was he didn't have anything to do with his time anymore, he had nothing but days reenacting conversations with Violet.

 

Because he stayed in the Room

 

After you spend two decades in a Room with your true love and you kinda don't wanna leave, you know?

 

So he, just-

 

didn't.

 

* * *

 

Moira was trying to making the most of this situation.

 

Not that it was really a  _situation_ per say. But it was enough of one that she had to make the most of it, and cleaning (for once) wasn't helping the little... _issue._

 

Her plan had been pretty simple, after all.

 

1\. Get Violet away from her parent. ( _the Loonies_ ). After all, while Moira had grown to care about them while they were living, the adult Harmons were destroying everyones sanity.

 

Not to mention Violet. The poor girl had drifted.

 

And Tate was an unfortunate anchor.

 

and then

2\. Make a deal with the Satan Pit that was the Murder House. Keep its Devil Daddy happy. Everything will be fine. 

 

But:

 

Apparently the Door opening at some point was apart of the Deal.

 

Apparently one _kiss_ meant all was well.

 

Apparently she was left to clean up the mess.

 

None had gone according to the plan.

 

(It had been such a _simple_ plan.)

 

Moira was pissed.

 

* * *

 

 

In the last year Violet has started to behave like her moniker.

 

The shrinking part.

 

Bit by bit she shrunk herself

 

down.

 

Memories and feelings flutter away like petals in a breeze.

 

Bit by bit she plucks them off, a game.

 

_Do I remember? Do I forget? Do I remember? Do I-what?_

 

and before long,

 

_she was bare_

 

* * *

 

The house was in a bit of a mood.

 

No new house guests.

 

Its little Devil loosing its mind locked in a Room with to many memories.

 

The poor Flower seemed to thing that killing itself was the only cure. ( _A little bit 'been there done that, sweet_.)

 

If only the Maid was a better minion.

 

If only it wasn't just a House.

* * *

Moira was making some tea.

 

Tea was good for the soul, and when your made of _only_  soul it was good for all of you. 

 

At least that was the plan. (And all hell knows how well those go.)

 

She placed two cups before her. 

 

_It was time for things to change around here._

* * *

First cup for the Monster in the closet.

 

(She had spit in it for good measure.)

 

Moira delicately placed a note around the base of the cup, left it on a saucer, and 

 

_knock knock knock_

 

Three times for the Devil.

* * *

 

The Second was for the Flower.

 

It was harder to find that one,

 

Hard to predict where someone is going to be if they don't know where they are to start with.

 

In the end, Moira simply called out to the house 

 

_"Time for tea, Violet."_

 

And the Violet came.

 

* * *

 

The Door opening had been strange for Violet.

 

Because for the first time in two decades, she didn't want to leave.

 

She wanted to stay and talk to Tate and wonder what was going on in the world on the outside.

 

But not have to worry about it. All that she could ever see, all that would ever exist to her was The Room and the Stuff inside it.

 

Pretty stress free living.

 

But it had opened and that meant things where supposed to be okay again. 

 

(As okay as they could be)

 

So she had breathed in, and ran out of that sweet hell.

 

Leaving Tate's arms open, waiting for someone to fill them.

* * *

 

In the last year, Tate had left The Room once.

 

He really regretted that once.

 

It had been a week after Violet had gone away,

 

and Tate was starting to think she wasn't coming back.

 

So he went to go find her. Bring her Back. Be with her again.

 

 _Violet_.

 

The wood of the floors creaked her name under his footsteps.

 

He had slowly crept through the open Door, and down the hall down the stairs through the rooms and she was nowhere.

 

_Where are you Violet?_

 

And then Moira had told him get some sun. She had said that some sun would do him some good. She thought he might find some things of interest among al that open sky.

 

He did find some sun. It didn't do him any good.

 

Because he found other things.

 

(With all of her 'perhapsing' he wished she would have told him what else was out there. Waiting.)

 

Violet, in the center of the lawn.  Eyes closed. Pale Skin. 

 

"Hey Violet" 

 

Her eyes didn't open before, "What do you want, Tate."

 

Now, Tate had been perplexed by this question. What did he  _want?_ _  
_

He wanted Violet in their bed, screaming his name and clawing his back so hard he bleed.

 

He wanted Violet, in his arms, needing him as much as he desperately needed her.

 

He wanted everything. But everything was a lot to ask. He had figured that out from experience.

 

"I was waiting for you to come back Vi." Hands in pockets. Soft smile. Sad eyes.  _Please look at me._

 

She did.

 

"It creeps me out."

 

What she meant. 

 

 _You creep me out_   _I'm not coming back leaving me alone I hate you go away and never come back why are you here I love you I want to be alone leave_

 

And it was horrible.

 

So Tate left.

 

But being back in the Room a different horrible.

 

Because now, a year later, things still hadn't changed.

 

Tate could still smell her. 

 

And she was everywhere.

 

And she still wasn't there with him.

 

 _But its okay,_ he thought.  _Because she's happy out there. And I care about that._

 

_Her happiness._

 

And then 

 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

* * *

 Up in his tower, the Devil stares at his door.

 

In the kitchen the Flower waits-wilted but still there.

 

She had come when she had been called, and though she was not really sure why she was there she didn't necessarily want to leave.

 

Upstairs the Devil paced, and read and read the note again and again before slowly so slowly,

 

He opened the Door,

 

and  _flew_ down the stairs.

 

"Violet?"

 

And she looked at him, past him, all the way around the space that he occupied.

 

"Do you have the tea, then? I think we were supposed to have tea."

 

She was kind-of-there kind-of-not. She saw Tate and remembered him, looked away and forgot him, only to do it all over again.

 

"So, this wasn't your idea then." Tate could have been more disappointed then he was. Violet was here after all.

 

"It could have been, I don't really know." Why was he here? The tea cup before her suggested they were waiting for tea, the cup had leaves at the bottom but was empty. Maybe it hadn't been washed in a while.

 

And this was a puzzle. The Door had been knocked on and the tea had been there still hot and why didn't she know this how couldn't she know this  _ten minutes_ maybe had gone by... _oh no_ "Violet." Each letter of her name became a stab of pain as it rolled of his tongue.

 

_(V was soft like her skin had been, I as self indulgent as they both were, O bright with past excitement, L because he loved her, E she was everything, and T as time ruined everything and it meant the end the end the end)_

 

"Yes, Tate?" He sighed in relief. 

 

"So you know me then?'

 

She was confused by this, confused at his relief and everything and she felt like shehad _already_ had some tea. No No No Violet hadn't made it who had, who had, who had....

 

Moira??

 

"Have you seen the maid? I think she made the tea." And she stood to leave. Then he was clutching at her shoulders.

 

"How do you know me, Vi." Butterflies fluttered in her stomach but why? And then anger flared and 

 

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU PERV." 

 

And the little blonde boy fell to the floor like a puppet who had lost its strings.

 

And Violets felt like crying. A bit. (more than she was used to and yet she remembered too many tears falling down her face before.)

 

"Oh Violet. What did you do? What did you do to yourself?"

 

As if she was supposed to have an answer.

 

* * *

 

Originally, Violet had reveled in her freedom. 

 

She ran and ran until she couldn't pretend to breathe any longer.

 

She read books and books and  _finally_ had a bath.

 

'Life' was as good as it could have been.

 

And then slowly guilt and doubt and _missing,_ too much missing was involved.

 

In the garden a week after the Door he had blocked out her sun and she felt like she was dying all over again.

 

_It freaks me out._

 

(Go away leave I love you I love You and I can't bear it any longer Tate.)

 

After, all of her memories from too many years not living started to burn burn burn away all the good thought she had.

 

And this was different. Because before The Room she had been complacent. So complacent with her nothingness. During the Room Tate was always there  _doing something_ and she became so used to his own brand of  _suffocating_ and she _loved_ it. After the Room she was angry. The newly abandoned anger of 'FUCK FUCK WHY DID I LEAVE THIS WAS EVERYTHINGS' FAULT BUT MINE AND ITS ALSO ME AND FUCK YOU TATE AND GOD AND EVIL AND GOOD FUCK THIS IS BULLSHIT." But she had been free so who gives a shit and then there was now. One week into freedom and she wanted the shackles loosened so she decided to do something about it.

 

Before she had been drifting but now she was on a warpath.

 

Violet tore open her mind and emptied out everything the made her feel because what use where feelings when all she had ever done with them was abandon.

 

_Abandon. Abandon. Abandon._

 

Dad. Mom. Tate.

 

Three ducks in a row and she made them go.

 

Cut off their heads and now she's dead and now they're dead and dead and dead.

 

Violet ruined everything so why not just get rid of Violet.

 

And so Violet did what Violet did best.

 

And abandoned herself.

* * *

 

After the Room things were different.

 

Of course they were.

 

Tate was broken and Violet was gone and Moira was pissed and the House felt empty.

 

but truly they were all just alone.

* * *

 

Tate pulled himself onto a stool and waited, because thats all he seemed to do anymore.

 

Through the door walked Violet and she sat down across from him and smiled a happy smile.

 

For a moment Tate had hoped hoped hoped all of what had happened before had been a joke but then,

 

"Are you here for the tea?"

 

And tears began to fall and Violet was confused by Tate's reaction and said,

 

"You're such a crybaby, you pull this shit too often."

 

Because he did. Didn't he.

 

Violet didn't remember this boy and yet she did and hmmmmm how entirely strange.

 

"Do you remember me," Tate sniffed. "Do you Violet? Please tell me this is some joke."

 

And moments and moments and moments passed before a hesitant.

 

"Tate, you really need to learn to let a drowning girl drown."

 

Tate almost smiled, "You know, thats supposed to be the worst way to die. You try to hold your breath your vision fades to black, when your drowning you try too hard to hold on. The _real_ relief happens after you stop holding on, you know Violet, and water just fills your lungs and then you die-which I guess could be kind of brilliant. But its whats afterwards that sucks. Your face gets really bloated and fat. Your face is too nice for that sort of thing Violet."

 

"If you say so Tate."

 

Tate smiled. (and the Devil grinned)

 

"Wanna try it out in the bathtub upstairs?"

 

* * *

Moira had been waiting.

 

Waiting Waiting Waiting for far too long.

 

And the House had been waiting longer.

 

but Tate waited longer still.

* * *

 

It had been a while since the Flower had plucked all her petals.

 

And a while more since the Devil had lost his wings.

 

But Petals can grow back,

 

 the Devil can learn to fly in other ways.

 

Violet spent more time with Tate and more time remembering. (And he was always there when he needed to be, because he needed her just as much.)

 

And Tate learned to let go, and let go some more, and soon Violet was a person not a thing to have and somehow he loved her more now.

 

So right now they sat in the Room and watched the clouds of dust go by.

 

Tate's head was on Violets lap and her fingers were in his hair.

 

They were both happy.

 

"You never told me why you went to tea, you know."

 

This was something that had bothered Violet since she finally stopped trying to break herself.

 

And this was something that Tate had been avoiding since he found out that it hadn't been Violet who wrote it.

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"Yes it does."

 

"I don't think it does, and I would tell you if it did Violet but since it doesn't I don't see why I would tell you." 

 

Violet tugged on his hair. "Tate."

 

So Tate reached into his pocket and pulled out a note.

 

Violet closed the Door.

 

and they stayed there for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I finally got off my ass and wrote this. (and by that I mean published b/c i wasn't happy with it and I'm still kind of not sorry if it sucks)
> 
> This was also WAY WAY WAY longer than it was supposed to be but the ending never felt quite right so I kinda...just...kept going??

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story for AHS, and the idea just came to me. I needed to write it out. Hope you liked it. I might post a second chapter? But i don't know...maybe.


End file.
